
Class JES_ 

Book l .' XjfWl 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



POEMS 



Lillie Rosalie Ripley 




BOSTON 

RICHARD G. BADGER 

THE GORHAM PRESS 
1910 



CopjTigbt 1910. by Richard G. Badger 



All Rights Reserved 



The Gorham Press. Boston. U. S. A. 



©CU278n47 



COxNTENTS 

Page 

Two Children Asleep 7 

A Lover s Litany 9 

J Thunderstorm 10 

The Heart II 

Hymn to the Night 13 

Rest 14 

The Favorite Gown 15 

In Winter 1 7 

October 18 

A Song of Hope 19 

To a Fairy 20 

To a Jacqueminot Rose 21 

To a Beautiful Moth 22 

The Love/s Anszver 23 

To a Sparrow 24 

// 25 

An Autumn Tivilight 26 

Woods in April 28 

Devotion 30 

Sappho 31 

Lines to a Hermit Thrush 33 

Sonnets to Pliny the Younger 35 

Cicero 40 

Shakespeare 41 

His Little Sweetheart 42 

Helen at the Bier of Hector 43 

*Twas But a Dream 45 

The Mountain Stream 4b 



POEMS 



TWO CHILDREN ASLEEP 

Two human buds lockedfast in sleep; 

Two little strangers in this world; 
Upon a couch in a darkened room 

I find them softly curled. 

Holding the light above my head 

That I may not awaken them; 
I feast my eyes upon their charms, — 

Two buds upon one stem. 

Four times have the red, red roses bloomed 
And graced the month of perfect days, 

Since one came to us to delight 
Us with her pretty ways. 

Her oval face of olive tints 

Is softly flushed, like a damask rose ; 

Dark, silken lashes sweep her cheeks 
In softly hushed repose. 

Her dusky hair lies thick and soft 

Upon her pretty, baby head, — 
Her dimpled arms and tiny hands 

Rest on the coverlet. 

Her rosy mouth is dewy-fresh, 

And tempts me sorely to bend down, — 
If it would not awaken her — 

And press a kiss thereon. 

Six times have the snowdrops hung their bells 
Of snow, all flecked in emerald, 

Since the other one from heaven came 
And this old world beheld. 

Her face is like a lily fair, — 

And daintily-flushed like a sea shell; 

And golden lashes sweep her cheeks, 
O'er eyes like sweet blue bells. 
1 



A silken strand of golden hair 

Trails o'er her cheek, like a sunbeam ; 

A smile plays round her sweet, red mouth 
At something in her dream. 



A LOVER'S LITANY 

Come out to me my love, my queen, where moon- 
light softly lingers, 
On flower and leaf and in among the fountain's 
plashing waters ! 
Come to me where I stand and wait. 
Beside the rose-tree at the gate, 
Sweet Iverness! 

The clustered, snowy daisies sleep among the tall, 

sweet grasses; 
And buttercups are slumbering too, along the slop- 
ing hillsides; 
The stars are winking in the skies. 
Like many wide, sweet, wondering eyes, 
My Iverness! 

A little flitting, wandering breeze goes dancing 

through the garden; 
And at my feet is softly hurled a shower of scented 
rose-leaves. 
Like fairies huddled at my feet. 
To spread a carpet for thee, sweet, — 
My Iverness! 

Come out to me my love, my queen, where moon- 
light softly filters 
Through leafy branches to the ground, in dainty, 
checkered patterns; 
I have a message new for you, 
Shut in this rose all drenched in dew 
My Iverness! 

Oh list! I hear a light footfall approaching in the 

distance ; 
A white dress gleams and then is lost among the 
ghostly shadows, — 
It gleams again, my heart beats fast; 
I've waited long, she comes at last. 
My Iverness! 

9 



A THUNDERSTORM 

The leaden clouds hang weighed o'er the earth; 

A solemn silence clings within the air; 
And in all nature not a hint of mirth, 

All waiting for the storm to leap his lair. 

A mighty flash, that rends the clouds apart; 

A blinding flash from upper worlds descends, 
And speeds more rapidly than arrow's dart 

From out the bow a skillful native bends. 

A dull report now echoes o'er the hills; 

A distant, jarring rumble shakes the earth! 
Another flash, that fills the earth with thrills; 

There is no feigning in its savage mirth ! 

Then comes a hissing swirl of falling rain. 
Like bitter tears, that bring the heart relief, 

When bowing 'neath a heavy mental strain, 
Or, over-burdened with a weight of grief. 

The storm has eased its burdened heart at last, 
The clouds grown, lighter, flit through paling 
space ; 
And finally they part asunder, past 

The dark and trailing clouds with sweeping 
grace. 

And a gleam of sunlight smiles upon the earth, 
That turns the trickling rain-drops, soft and 
pure. 

To liquid diamonds. As a sudden mirth 
May light a tearful face, and peace ensure. 

The earth sends up a fragrant odor damp; 

A mossy fragrance, that delights the sense. 
A little bird has left its leafy camp 

And drenches all the earth with song from thence. 



lO 



THE HEART 

The heart! It is a mystery! 

Who can its longings quell 

With earthly things? We think we know 

Its needs and depths so well. 

The longed-for things do satisfy 

But for a little time, — 

Somehow they do not quench the thirst 

As the rain the clinging vine. 

Some things pall quickly, — others not, — 

But there will come a day 

When all the treasures earth can give 

Will bring us not a ray 

Of comfort, not a gleam of hope, — 

But turn to ashes in 

Our grasp. One thing and only one 

Will peace and safety win 

And that is love. It's not of earth. 

Its origin's divine! 

It soothes the troubled waters fierce 

And never yields to time. 

For love that's true there is no death. 

And nothing ever daunts 

This pure and heavenly fire that's sent 

To fill the heart's deep wants. 

And where love is, there God we'll find, — 

For He's the fountain-head. 

And blest ones may not conscious be 

That He their hearts have wed. 

The heart where love does reign supreme 

There's left no void to ache. 

How full of joy is such a life! 

And God will ne'er forsake. 



II 



Love purifies, ennobles, lifts 

The heart from earthly things. 

Unconsciously it leads to God 

And heavenly knowledge brings 

To earth. For love is king! There is 

No greater. Heaven rings 

With this sweet word. For there it reigns 

Supreme 'midst beautious things. 



12 



HYMN TO THE NIGHT 

Fair closer of the gates of daily toil; 

Fair curtain lowered across the garish day; 
Fair banisher of cares and weariness; 

Oh fair oasis on life's desert way! 

Fair bringer out of moon and starry fay; 

Fair spreader of the night-moth's velvet wing; 
Fair wafter forth of the Hermit Thrush's song; 

Fair author of the fireflies' lightening. 

Oh fair transfigurer of mother earth! 

Thou closeth up the daisies' eyes in sleep, 
And foldeth the wild rose into buds again 

And maketh all the sky a purple deep. 

Thou openeth all the evening primroses, 

And turn them to the moon like starry eyes. — 

And in every lake and diamond pool, the stars 
Reflect themselves, like flowers in golden guise. — 

And to the heart of man thou bringest peace ; 

The world of actual things slips quite away, — 
And the ideal — ^which is the real — comes forth 

And over him does hold delightful sway. 

When earth was young, methinks thou wert more 
fair : 
When Eve and Adam, in undisputed sway 
Ruled Eden, and God to that fair spot divine. 
In the cool, sweet dusk of evening, made His 
way. 



13 



REST 

When utterly wearied in body and mind, 

How sweet upon a couch to lie 
In a cozy room in the soft twilight, 

When snowflakes darken the winter sky. 

With the firelight from the open grate 

Flickering on the floor and wall; 
Where not a disturbing voice is heard, 

Nor even a passing, light footfall. 

Where the only sound is the tick of the clock 
That sounds the heart-beat of the world; 

And the great house-cat in his tawny coat 
Before the fire in a ball lies curled. 

And the world with all its restless noise, 

Afar, within the distance lies — 
And tortures not the tired ears 

And blisters not the weary eyes 

How sweet it is to thus lie still. 

An hour or two in quiet peace — 
Until the weary soul finds rest 

And from fever and fret it finds release. — 

Until we find the old joyousness 

Spring back to the heart with a merry bound; 
And we feel like mingling again with the world. 

Raised up like a drooping flower from the ground. 

Then the human voice sounds very sweet 
To the newly rested heart and brain, 

That feels as fresh as the woods and hills 
Just after a light, refreshing rain. 



14 



THE FAVORITE GOWN 

Ah there are gowns most exquisite 
Of rich materials wrought; 

Of velvets rich and satins soft, 
In foreign countries sought; 

Of laces caught and fashioned so : 
In many a jew^eled knot. — 

Ah there are gowns like spider's webs, 
With jewels thickly sown: 

Where seed-pearls gleam in rich array, 
Caught from the ocean's foam; 

And diamonds glimmer like dew drops, 
And in rich lace find room. 

Ah this was at the opera worn, 
And that a ball-room graced, 

WTiile waltzing lightly with her love, 
His arm about her waist; 

And at a banquet hall this gown: 
With golden trappings laced. 

Ah, all these gowns so rich and rare 

Are of the world a part; 
And lightly-worded flatteries 

Into the memory start: 
The corteous bow and hollow smile, 

Revealing no true heart. 

The richest gown in all the world — 

The loveliest to me — 
Though wrought of silken fabric soft 

To suit a high degree. 
Or only of soft muslin wrought 

It matters not to me: — 



15 



Is the dear gown that's worn at home 
Far from the world apart. — 

No hollow words of flattery 
Into the memory start: 

The associations of this gown 
Are true love from the heart. 

The dearest treasures earth can give 

Are associated here: 
Soft, clinging arms and kisses sweet 

Of little children dear, 
And noble love, that glorifies, 

And brings sweet heaven n°ar. 



i6 



IN WINTER 

I would not change thy frosty winds for all the 

southern breezes; 
I would not miss thy icebound lakes or forest's 
naked branches; 
I like to see the limbs of trees 
Glistening with ice, wave in the breeze 
In winter. 

I like to see the frozen streams all decked in jewel- 
like splendor : 
Where there are dainty festoons hung in fairy 
traceries, 
That shine and glisten in the sun. 
Like precious jewels every one 
In winter. 

And merry skaters skim the ice, like birds across 

the heavens, — 
Their merry laughter ringing out, their cheeks like 
glowing roses, — 
While in the heavens the sun shines cold, 
And clouds are gray flushed o'er with gold — 
In winter. 

Let others seek for southern climes, when the Frost 

King approaches; 
Let those who dread the chilling winds bask 'mong 
the southern blossoms; 
But let me linger where sleigh-bells 
Ring o'er the fields and frozen dells 
In winter. 

I like to walk in the bracing air across the frozen 

meadows, — 
Where frosty breezes sting the cheeks, and make 
them glow and tingle, — 
Where snowflakes pelt us like fair foes, 
And the snow like sifted silver glows 
In winter. 

17 



OCTOBER 

Sweet mother nature now has weary grown 
And is preparing for her needed rest. — 

Long since the song-birds have to southward flown, 
And lonely is each long-deserted nest. 

The flowers, long since, have closed their lovely 
eyes 

And gone away, where they are seen no more. — 
The trees have taken on their parting dyes. 

And slowly drop their leaves to nature's floor. — 

A lingering sadness clings within the air: 
A dreamy haze, that wraps all things about; 

Only the grass is lush, and green, and fair. 
As when in May it first began to sprout. 

The wind moans sadly through the thinning trees 
And round the chimney, making sad the heart, 

A dash of chilly rain, that 'gins to freeze 

Now pelts the house with hailstones, then de- 
parts. 

The little children, that erewhile did roam 

With soft, bright eyes, and gaily, pattering feet, — 

Like lambs are shut within each cozy home 
And now no longer bless the silent street. — 

Anon, against a rain-dashed window pane, 
A little, childish, dimpled face looks out, 

And longs, methinks, for summer days again, — 
Dissatisfied with toys all strewn about. — 

Sweet mother nature drives us all indoors. 
And now no longer soothes with gentle touch 

The tired feet, that wandered o'er her floors. — 
We miss her gentle ministry, how much! 



18 



A SONG OF HOPE 

Art sad, bowed down with weariness — 
Not strength enough to lift thy head? 

Ah, turn thy face out heavenward; 
The sky is blue o'erheadi 

Art wholly blinded by hot tears — 

And canst not see for grief? 
Ah, let the sunlight kiss them off 

As the rain-drops, from the leaf! 

Art stung by heartless words and cruel — 

Uttered in anger hastily — 
That rankle and burn and tear thy soul? 

Grieve not thy heart away. — 

There's a silken rustle among the leaves, 
That fills with music the sweet air — 

And from the world of blossom and leaf 
There steals a glory everywhere. — 

And at thy feet the grass is green; 

The sky bends softly o'er thy head; 
A little bird there clips the air 

In the sunlight overhead. 

Ah, listen to his song and learn! 

Perhaps the tiny, feathered thing 
Knows thou art sorrowful, and sings 

To thee while on the wing. — 

Ah, learn that in the world of men 
Thou oft must needs be sorrowful. — 

Of deep, sweet souls there seems a dirth. 
Yet joys are plentiful. — 

And thou art loved, though thou thinkest not. 

And joys are all along thy way: 
Though in dark disguise^they appear to thee, — 

Thou 'It clearer see, some day. — 
19 



TO A FAIRY 

I met a fairy tall and slight with eyes like blue 

cornflowers ; 
Her hair was like a pale sunbeam and clung about 
her brows; 
Her face was like a sweet, white rose 
In all its dainty, soft repose 
And winsomeness. 

Her gown was white, like pale moon-mist and in 

its shimmering folds 
Were stars of gold, that nestled close and gleamed 
about her form; 
Her step was light and full of grace 
And in its gliding I could trace 
A queenliness. 

A crown there rested on her head, that shown like 

glistening dew. 
And from its center, there, I saw a golden star ex- 
pand, — 
Above her snowy brows it gleamed 
And from its golden center beamed 
Soft luminance. 

Within her hand she held a wand, as white as 

fallen snow. 
And twisted all about its length were gleams of 
silver dew. — 
Upon its point there flashed a star 
Like those in heaven seen afar, — 
In midnight skies. 

She stood before me silently, a smile upon her lips. — 
Yet sweeter far than all her grace and dainty love- 
liness, 
Was the sweet lovelight in her eyes, 
That seemed a gleam of paradise. 
That fell on me. 



20 



TO A JACQUEMINOT ROSE 

You beauteous thing, I'd much ado to take thee 

from thy sisters, 
Because of thy stern body-guard of thorns, that 
never leave thee! 
Though I am wounded, I care not! 
I hold thee like a lovely thought: 
In w^onder. 

Ah thou wert w^ooed in leafy June, by cool winds 

soft and tender. 
And kissed by sunbeams through the day and at 
night by silvery moonbeams. — 
Then dewdrops cooled thy lovely lips 
Refreshing to the very tips 
Thy petals. 

Ah thou wert rocked within thy calyx until one 

lovely morning 
When thou didst tremble open wide: A thought 
of God perfected ; 
Then from thy heart sweet fragrance crept, 
And through the summer air it swept. 
Like incense. 

Thy petals are so soft and cool, as to my lips I 

press them, 
That from thy heart to mine there springs a train 
of tender musings: 
And fancies sweet as summer birds, — 
Too sweet to find a voice in words, 
Thrill through me. 



21 



TO A BEAUTIFUL MOTH 

Thou denizen of the night, how fair you are! 

How softly brilliant are your lovely wings! 
Unlike the butterfly your markings are, — 

Ah you are one of earth's most dainty things. 

With wings outspread and clothed with many tints; 

Of red and gray and brown and black and white, 
That merge into each other, thus giving hints 

Of colors undeclared, thou lovely wight! 

In thick white velvet is your body dressed, — 
And stretched across are bars and rings of brown 

Edged all in black; of plumey brown thy crest; 
And two small plumes of black spring from your 
crown. 

All day you drowse and dream; for 'tis at night 
You flutter forth. And when night's sable wing 

Descends, a tremor thrills you as with delight, — 
Thou denizen of the night! Thou brilliant 
thing! 

*Tis when Diana throws a silvery veil 
Of moonlight o'er the earth, and primroses 

Unfold their yellow blossoms in each dale, 
And o'er the earth a witchery reposes. — 

And fireflies gleam and glance among the trees 
And flowers and grasses, like small drops of 
light: 

*Tis then you flutter forth upon the breeze 
And soon are lost within the shadowy night. 

From whence you came, or where you go, we know 
Not. Denizen of the night we wonder much 

At thy great size and brilliancy. The glow 
Of thy broad wings, so soft withal, is such 



22 



I pause in wonder as I look at you. — 

Thou'rt one of nature's many beauteous things 

Flashing across our path for us to view, 
Then fluttering out of sight on velvet wings. 



THE LOVER'S ANSWER 

You ask me why I love you ! Can you tell 
Why violets purple the cool woods in May? 

Or why spring beauties carpet every dell? 

Or why bright stars flash out on heaven's high- 
way? 

Ah can you tell me why the rainbow gleams 
A tinted arch against a tear-wet sky? 

Or can you tell the secret of the streams 
That murmur like a tender lullaby? 

Ah, can you tell me why the wood-thrush sings? 
Or why a golden light rests on the sea? 
Or why 'mong moss and fern are living springs? 
Or why sweet odors lure the honey-bee? 

Canst tell why lilies are as pure as snow ? 

Or why the rose in beauty is complete? 
If you can tell me why these things are so, — 

Then I can tell thee why I love thee, sweet. 



23 



TO A SPARROW 

December! and soft twilight closing round 
A wintry world, as heavy as a cloud! 

The snow is blown like powder 'long the ground— 
And the icy limbs of trees are groaning loud. — 

A fierce and biting wind holds lordly sway, 
And stings the face and hands of passers-by — 

And all the clouds are a heavy, leaden-gray; 
And the sun has set all hidden from the eye. 

A little sparrow sits upon a ledge 

High up above a window, 'neath the eaves : 

A tiny ball upon the very edge 

And shivers, as the wind the snow upheaves. 

The over-hanging roof piled high with snow 
Prevents the wind from blowing him away; 

And icicles are hanging close below 
But fail to keep the icy breath at bay. 

Alone he sits: a small, forsaken mite — 

With feathers all erect, and eyes closed fast, 

And purple claws all huddled out of sight. — 
Anon, he starts at a stinging, icy blast, — 

Then settles down more snugly than before. 

He does not place his head beneath his wing. 
Because he fears the icy wind full sore 

And keeps them closely folded up, wee thing! 

Where is your mate, you tiny ball of brown. 
That sees me not, the while I ponder thee? 

Didst lose her as the night came settling down? 
Or didst thou leave her in some hollow tree — 

More snug and warm, than this, thy chilly bed ? 

Or is she lying cold within the snow. 
While it goes drifting, drifting o'er her head. 
As softly as the snowy lilies blow? 
24 



What keeps thee warm? Hast fire within thy heart, 
That burns so warmly, that it defies the cold? 

Ah thou dost stir within thy sleep, and start. 
Then drowse again, within thy chilly fold. 



IF 



If you were the grass and I were the dew, 
I'd slip down softly and comfort you. — 

If you were the beach and I were the sea, 
I'd spring up softly and fondle thee. — 

If you were a flower and I were the sun, 
I'd kiss thy petals everyone. — 

If you were a rose and I were a bee, 
I'd bury myself in the heart of thee. — 

If you were an oak and I were a vine, 

I'd cling to thee, mingling my soul with thine. 

If you were a harp and I were a song, 
We'd blend our souls into one ere long. — 



25 



AN AUTUMN TWILIGHT « 

I stood up on a hill in the soft twilight: 
The hour that daylight merges into night. — 
To southward, woods and hills stretched far and 
wide 

From side to side. 

Soft tinted were the trees in bronze and gold 
And crimson; and tall evergreens towered bold 
Against the sky and gleamed out like a blur 
Of tinted fur. 

To eastward towered a steep and verdant hill: 
From out its side there gushed a little rill 
Of diamond water, sparkling and cool, 
And formed a pool, — 

Where on a slab of stone upon its brink, 
Low-kneeling, one might downward bend and 
drink 
A draught more sparkling than the rarest wine 
Wrought of the vine. 

Above it bent a gnarled witch-hazel tree. 
So low the diamond pool one scarce could see, 
All hung with golden flowers and golden leaves. 
Like tinted sheaves. 

Upon the hill there towered giant trees 
And richly tinted were their wealth of leaves. — 
And at its foot there wound a little brook 
Born in some nook 

Far out among the hills, and there it wound: 
A little, silver ribbon 'long the ground; 
And both its banks as far as eye could see 
Were lavishly 



26 



And gaily strewn with purple asters wild — 
And white ones gleamed where the waning sunlight 
smiled ; 
And clumps of shrub-like sumachs lent a scarlet 
glow. — 

While murmuring low 

The little brook went sparkling on its way. 
And right above, and millions of miles away, 
In the purple sky, there hung the ascending 
moon — 

The round, pale moon — 

And silvered all the little valley. In 
The west, the sky above the sinking rim 

Of the golden sun, was a cloud-like mass of 
flame, — 

Too fair to name. 

And the city, (called along the Lakes the Gem) 
Blue waters bordering it like to a hem. 

Stretched out before me in the dim half-light 
Of the soft twilight. 

And at my feet a soft, green aftermath 
Did thickly border all the gravelly path, 

That wound adown the hill to the sparkling 
brook 

In its silvered nook. 

And thickly on the cool, green verdure lay 
That moisture sent from clouds at close of day, 
To scatter freshness and all life renew: 
Great pearls of dew. 

Ah, grand, inspiring was the lovely scene. 
One of the loveliest I had ever seen! 
A majesty did all about it twine 

Wrought by a pen divine! 



27 



WOODS IN APRIL 

Woods in April! how I love thee! 

Just awakened from thy sleep; 
When on all the trees about me 

Living green begins to peep. — 

And the robins blithely calling 
To each other 'mong the trees, — 

Then like brown leaves, softly falling, 
Down they flutter through the breeze: 

Running lightly o'er the mosses, — 
Pulling worms from out the ground, 

Which about each lightly tosses; 
Then a dart and whirring sound 

Tells me they have fled to labor 
On their cozy nests somewhere: 

Near enough for them to neighbor — 
Both on stormy days and fair. 

Woods in April! how I love thee! 

When spring-beauties spread a wave 
Of pink blossoms all about me 

Like a great cathedral nave. 

Piled among the stumps in masses 
And among the roots of trees, 

Where each chilly breeze that passes 
Rocks a million bells with ease. 

Dainty blossoms, how I love them! 

Nestling all about my feet: 
Each is like a lovely thought gem 

Crowded full of memories sweet: 

Filled with memories of childhood — 

Full of dreamy innocence, — 
When within another wildwood 

I first saw thy countenance. 
28 



When with dimpled hands I pulled them, 
Tenderly, lest I should bruise 

Thoughtlessly, a tender flower-gem; 
And among them sit and muse. 

Dainty harbingers of springtime, 

As I stoop to pull thy bells, 
Soundless music sends a soft chime 

All along the nearby dells: 

Music to which fairies listen 

When we think that all is still. — 

While within the air does glisten, — 
Dew-like — now and then, a chill — 

Though the sun smiles out so quickly — 
Then there comes a dash of rain, 

Falling on the blossoms thickly — 
Then a bright sunbeam again. 

Woods in April! yet I linger! 

What a charm thou hast to hold! 
Thou dost call with beckoning finger 

And I pause in thy stronghold: 

Where are violets full golden: 

Dog-tooth violets, and coy — 
Which have decked these woods full olden 

At each smiling April's joy. 

I behold them now with gladness: 
Dear, old friends beneath that tree! 

They bring not a touch of sadness 
As they nod their gold at me. — 

And violets in robes like snowflakes 

Greet me as I stroll about. 
And upon the April breeze shakes 

Fairy perfume softly out. — 



29 



Woods in April ! how I love thee ! 

Harbinger of sweet, springtime I 
Joy thou always bringest to me, 

\\Tien thou ringest out thy chime. — 



DEVOTION 

She was not rich, or of high estate; 

And, true, she was not beautiful. — 

She was not young — and, yet, not old: 

There were silver threads within her hair 

And lines upon her face and brow. — 

And, yet, a lover came to woo : 

A lover, young and handsome too — 

Ah, not a youth, but of full manhood. — 

And many a blossom fair, he brought, 

And many a gift to her he gave: 

And when she smiled, he was content; 

And when she frowned his heart grew sad. 

And gossips shook their sage, old heads 

And wondered what he saw in her 

To lure him there on summer eves, 

And waste his time, when he might woo 

A fairer one with youth and wealth — 

One far more fit to be his bride. — 

And thus they gossiped o'er their tea. — 

But he heeded them not, no, not at all! 

One day he led her to the church 

And proudly made her his dear wife. — 

The tender love he bore to her 

Was not of choice, but destiny. — 



30 



SAPPHO 

Sweet Sappho! Peerless Pagan queen of song! 
To thee does immortality belong! 

Fair central glory of the Lesbian Isle 
And art's soft wile. 

Thou didst pour out in Greek, thy native tongue, 
The sweetest songs, that in thy day were sung! 
And all did own, that genius rare of thine, 
Wholly divine! 

Thou wert among the Lesbian maidens fair, — 
Though small, and dark, and crowned with dusky 
hair, 
(Because of thy sweet soul) the fairest one 
'neath Lesbian sun. 

In thy sweet youth, among thy. girl friends fair, 
Didst weave of violets and maidenhair 
Full many a garland in thy leisure hours 
In leafy bowers. — 

For thou didst love to see thus garlanded 
The Lesbian maidens, who by thee were led 
In paths of music and the art divine 
Where thou didst shine. 

And very lovely was thy native isle. 
Where blossoms opened 'neath the golden smile 
Of southern suns — of many forms and hues 
Drenched in soft dews. 

But yet, for thee, the rose was queen of flowers — 
The fairest far, that bloomed in southern bowers: 
Where nightingales made glorious in May 
The close of day. 



3J 



And on the shores of the Aegean Sea, » 

Which circled all thy native isle and thee — 
Thy beauty-loving soul didst gaze upon 
The shells thereon — 

And marvel at their tinted loveliness. — 
The while, perchance, 'neath green trees' leafiness 
Thou soughtest the bath in cool, deep tideless sea, 
Thy maids and thee. 

And as through spicy grove and flower-strewn glade, 
Thou didst retrace thy steps — from out the shade 
Tall marble statues gleamed along thy way 
In snowy array. 

And temples strewn with precious jewels and gold 
And broideries, and cups of matchless mould, 
Where thou didst worship at the Pagan shrine 
Both thee and thine. 

Ah, thou didst sing of love, till on thee fell 
The glamour of it. Then thou didst seek to quell 
Its conquering force, because to thee it came — 
Unsought — it came. 

And all thy radiant life was filled with care. — 
The burden was too great for thee to bear. 
And thou didst lay aside thy golden lyre. 
Once thy desire. 

Then thou didst learn the deathlessness of love, 
And summoned Aphrodite from above, 

And thou didst plead with her in piteous prayer — 
With Venus fair. 

What mattered wealth to thee, or world's applause? 
Sweet rest thou couldst not find. Then thou didst 
pause 
Upon the rocks and thy bright soul didst free 
Deep in the sea. 



32 



LINES TO A HERMIT THRUSH 

On being awakened by it one early mid-summer 
morning 

Oh list! A strain of music thrills the air! 
A flute-like cadence from the deep, green wood, 
That has caused the gates of slumber to give way 
And shudder all apart in golden mist. — 
The morn is breaking o'er a slumbering world; 
An odorous coolness brushes o'er my cheek. — 
Fully awake, I scarcely dare to stir 
Lest I should fright this wonder — ^minstrel coy: 
Lest I, remorsefully, should hear the whir 
Of passing wings, and mourn a vanished joy. 
How still the morn! How full of peace! A hush 
Enwraps all things, through which this music falls 
Like precious jewels flung from a monarch's throne! 
He's at his morning prayers ; his praises flush 
The roseate clouds, which gem the east, and calls 
The rising sun from out the clouds alone, — 
Alone for the twinkling stars have vanished all. — 
What's hidden in thy song that thrills me so? 
That fills my soul with longings strange withal; 
That makes me think of mountains crowned with 

snow, 
Of places vague, half mystical and sweet? 



33 



Yet when full day declares itself, 'tis then 
I search for thee in vain. — Noises afright, — 
And away thou goest far beyond our ken: 
Methinks, some distant woodland to delight 
And charm into sweet echoes with thy song. 
But when the sunset's after-glow has dyed 
The sky^ in saftron tints and rose and gold, 
And in the t\vilight sleeps a cooling breeze, 
He's back again to grace the evening hour. — 
He sits atilt within a tree and sings : 
Into the gloaming steals his minstrel lay — 
His evening h>Tnn to God. — And when at last 
His benediction falls so soft, I feel 
A strange regret, that makes my eyes to swim 
In tears 



34 



SONNETS TO PLINY THE YOUNGER ON 
READING HIS LETTERS 

I 

Thou, who didst crave for immortality, 

Methinks, wouldst be content if thou couldst know 

Thy very letters, penned so long ago, 

Still live, and give delight, at this late day. 

Far more than eighteen centuries of years 

Have passed away since they w^ere penned and read 

By those, thy many friends, whom thou didst stead 

In time of trouble, mingling thy tears 

With theirs and smoothing many a thorny way 

With words of wisest council and of love: 

Putting thyself aside to succor them; 

And clinging to them in adversity. 

Naught but unworthiness couldst cool thy love : 

E'en that, the tide of pity couldst not stem. 



35 



II 



We hear thee pleading at the Roman bar, 
While hundreds, breathless, hang upon thy words. 
With many an eminent lawyer didst cross swords 
In wordy combat. Truth thou didst not mar 
With falsehood, woven cunningly to ensnare; 
But thou didst plead v/ith truth and eloquence, 
Thy very enemies, in consequence, 
Could not but secretly admire thy fair 
And open warfare, waged so fearlessly. 
We hear thee 'mong thy chosen intimates 
Reciting speeches, in thy leisure hours, 
Or listening to others heedfully: 
Assisting all true merit through the gates 
Of literature, of great, or lesser powers. 



36 



Ill 



When from the Roman bar art freed, we go 
With thee in thy vacation time, to one 
Of thy grand villas nestling neath the sun 
Of Italy, where warmest breezes blow. — 
We wander, with thee, through the porticos. 
The spacious dining-rooms, where windows are, 
Which open to the morn and evening star, 
The rising and the setting sun, where rows 
Of folding-doors suggest more loveliness: 
Of drawing-rooms; of beauty fairy-like; 
Of covered walks; the scent of violets; 
Of marble baths, and ocean's restlessness; 
Retreats for study; book-lined walls; alike 
To charm the mind, or free it from regrets. 



37 



IV • 

Another time we follow thee, afar, 

To another of thy villas, where mountains rise 

In purple grandeur, outlined against the skies, 

Where noises from the city do not mar 

The restful solitude: w^here fountains play 

And sparkle in their marble basins wide. 

And then through artificial channels glide 

To join the Tiber. — Where are meadows gay 

With wild-flowers, and lawns like emerald velvet 

soft. 
Dotted w^ith marble summer-houses, twined 
With ivy, and musical with fountains cool, 
Where roses by the thousand make the soft 
Air fragrant: where art and nature are combined 
In sumptuous luxury on this footstool. 



38 



Although surrounded by such luxury, 

And living in an age when vice was rife, 

Thou didst pass through it all with stainless life, 

Possessing all the knowledge of thy day. — 

A noble enemy; a faithful friend; 

Sincere and honest ; generous to a fault. — 

So far as in thee lay, thou didst not halt 

'Twixt right and wrong, nor to the wrong didst 

bend. 
Extending generous hospitality 
To all thy numerous friends and relatives; 
And loving with a tender love thy home. 
The Emperor honored thee for thy loyalty, 
And loved thee for thy genius none the less: 
Thou famous denizen of Pagan Rome! 



39 



CICERO 

A Roman with a golden voice of power! 

When thou didst speak, vast multitudes were 

swayed, 
Like to a mighty forest, which is stayed, — 
Or, overthrown by mighty winds in the hour 
Of storm. — Or thou couldst speak with voice most 

sweet 
Of friendship and of love. — For thou didst know 
(Which even death itself couldst not o'er throw) 
The blessings of true friends in love complete. 
And, too, thou hadst most bitter enemies, 
As all must have, who rise to eminence, 
Who envied thee and sought to overthrow, 
As thou didst stand in Rome's assemblies. 
While pouring forth thy golden eloquence. 
Which through vast centuries we've come to know. 



40 



SHAKESPEARE 

O poet greatly loved : of deathless fame ! 

Though three centuries and more have passed away, 

Since thou thy matchless genius didst display, 

Yet high above all poets stands thy name! 

Thou art the poet of the human race! 

In every country, and in every tongue. 

There art thou known, there art thy praises sung, 

For thy delightful wit and matchless grace. 

There is a freshness in thy every word. 

Which time has never dimmed, and ne'er can dim! 

To no particular age dost thou belong. 

But to all ages. And where'er thou'rt heard 

Thy matchless genius, like a favorite hymn. 

Does captivate, and hold the heart lifelong. 



41 



HIS LITTLE SWEETHEART , 

Before the open casement cool, he sees his sweet- 
heart standing: 
The late sunlight upon her hair; her small hands 
closely folded: 
A gazing straight adown the street, 
With great blue eyes so deep and sweet! 
His little sweetheart! 

She's vanished from the casement cool, and now he 

hears the patter 
Of her little, twinkling feet, — a moment more, — 
he's caught her! 
Then closely to his heart he holds 
His little daughter two years old: 
His iittle sweetheart! 



42 



HELEN AT THE BIER OF HECTOR 

Within a room most vast, and gloomy in 

Its grandeur, the noble Hector lay upon 

A bier most richly draped in cloth of gold. — 

The late sunlight fell through the casement set 

Ajar to let the cool, sweet air within. — 

No sound disturbed the stillness of the room. 

Soft rustling of leaves and songs of birds 

Made all the air without, melodious. — 

The mighty warrior feared by enemies: 

He, whose bright sword had pierced the noblest 

men. 
And sent them headlong to an early grave — 
Their golden armor clashing as they fell — 
Was caught and slain at last in single combat, 
Laid low by his most mighty enemy. — 
Conquered at last, he sleeps ; his rigid form 
Lies there in state, like to the body of 
A king. — And mourned like to an only child : 
For he was dearly loved by all his friends; 
And by his many enemies, admired, — 
Though secretly — for he was noble souled. — 
At last the brooding stillness was disturbed : 
An oaken door down at the further end 
Of the long room, was softly pushed ajar. 
And softly closed again. — ^And a tall form 
Came slowly towards the bier. Her sandled feet 
Awakening soft echoes as she moved ; 
Her silken garments rustling like leaves. — 
She moved straight on, and paused beside the bier. 
Her hands like two white flowers, and starred with 

jewels 
Were folded on her breast, as if she prayed; 
Her rippling hair fell like a web of gold, 
Loosely confined about her classic head, 
With a rich band of gold and precious gems. — 
Not one of all the lovely maids of Greece 
Could rival her, the fairest of her sex : 
Helen of Troy — the cause of bitter war 



43 



Most fiercely waged for many a lingering year, 

And envied by her sisters, far less fair. — 

She bends above the bier, her lovely face 

All sad and draw^n and piteous in its grief. — 

And as she looks upon the face serene 

In death, her tears fall thick and fast upon 

It. "Oh my friend, my true and only friend. — 

When others were most cruel, thou w^ert most kind ; 

When others made my life a misery, 

From thee I heard no unkind word, or blame." 

"My friend! My more than friend! Oh woe is me! 

Thou wert too noble to oppress the weak. 

Or persecute! Thy pity was too vast!" 

"Farewell my friend; a long farew^ell! Farewell — 

And may the gods protect thy noble soul!" 



44 



'TWAS BUT A DREAM 

The moonlight rested on the hills, and swept along 

the valleys; 
The pale stars glimmered out afar, within the dis- 
tant heavens: 
We stood together, you and I, 
We heeded not the moonlit sky, 
Or the stars, that watched us from on high. 

I read the lovelight in your eyes, although your lips 

were silent: 
And as I read, I thought I knew the secrets of the 
angels ; 
Your head, it lay upon my breast, 
And there it lay in perfect rest, 
My little love, in perfect rest. 

CHORUS 

'Twas but a dream! 'Twas but a dream! 
I woke to find it but a dream! 

But I know in heaven I shall find 

My little love for God is kind: 
Where all sweet life is but a dream — 
A perfect dream; a perfect dream; 
Where all sweet life is one long dream 
Of love; a perfect dream of love! 



45 



THE xMOUNTAIN STREAM 

Far up a mountain, cool, and grand, and vast, 
A mountain stream had birth ! to life it sprang, 

As from a giant's brain, a mighty thought, 

And from its bubbling depths sweet music rang! 

It flowed along 'mong moss and maidenhair — 
And the sweetly-scented, trailing Arbutus, 

And mountain Laurel, with buds like tiny shells. 
And blossoms fashioned into many a truss. 

It flowed on swiftly 'neath tall, whispering pines, 
And divers kinds of trees and underbrush ; 

Anon, it sprang o'er many a bedded rock 
Creating symphonies in its swirl and rush. 

And many a timid, mountain denizen 

Came there to drink and sport within its depths; 
And many a bird came there to bathe and splash. 

As o'er Vv^ide stones it sped like downward steps. 

And soon it left the mountain far behind. 
And wound among the hills in silver sheen, 

Where wild-flowers carpeted the tender grass 
And shown like clustered stars among the green. 

On, on it went, where trees did interlace 

Their branches, high, above its onward rush; 

And willows graced its banks in graceful clumps; 
And o'er it rang the music of the thrush. 

It sped through meadows, where forget-me-nots 
Did grace its banks in knots, like sweet, blue 
eyes ; 

And rushes stood knee-deep within its depths, 
Like slender bathers, pausing maiden-wise. 



46 



Still on it flowed 'neath many a rustic bridge 
Where lovers lingered in the soft twilight 

And listened to its music as it sped, 

While in their eyes there glanced the old love- 
light. 

Then dreamily it loitered 'mong sweet fields, 
Where meadow grasses rippled like the sea, — 

And graceful birds did clip the sunny air 
In search of coolness in some leafy tree. 

Then on it glanced through many a deep, green 
wood, 

Where many a delicate blossom starred the earth ; 
And many a delicate vine and clump of fern. 

Along its gracious banks, sprang into birth. 

Still on, creating beauty every-where, 

And spreading life and moisture far and wide, — 
And singing merrily, : s if in glee : 

A water-symphony long the mountain side. 

On, on it sped to join a deep, blue lake. 

That gleamed like to a monster, sapphire gem. 

In the golden light of the sweet, midsummer sun. 
Gracing the horizon, like a broidered hem. 

A city nestled close upon its banks, 

Through which the mountain stream must swift- 
ly pass. — 
Through many a culvert, on it glanced full swift. 

Then out into the sun, 'tween banks of grass. 

Then close it wound beneath a wooded hill. 
Then 'neath a dingy culvert, foul and dark. 

And full of oozy slime, and sticky mould, 
Which left upon its waters a foul mark. 



47 



Its limpid clearness faded to dull gray, • 

And scarce a darting minnow remained in it, 

And losing all its freshness, became foul; 
To even bathe the hands it was unfit. 

And poisoned by the hand of man it grew 
To be a sad menace to life and health ; 

And as it sped to join the glittering lake 
It entered sluggishly, as if by stealth: 

Staining its bosom with a muddy cloud, 
And poisoning the fish along its banks. 

It had received from every living thing. 

Except the hand of man, most gracious thanks. 



48 



DEC P 



One copy del. to Cat. Div. 



S 19^0 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

mmmi ^ 

018 407 553 2 



